Kyle
by Pmp2a-Trish
Summary: Can Kid convince Heyes to let Kyle join the gang. Short story - just for a little fun.


Kyle

"My answer is final, no." Heyes swung the ax, hard. As it landed deep into the stump – completely missing its intended target – he let out a piece of profanity that the Kid politely ignored.

"He's got a good heart." In vain, he tried again.

Heyes looked up at him, bewildered. Running his arm across his forehead to wipe off the sweat, or to just add more to his extremity - depending on how you looked at it, he gave a halfhearted laugh. "He's got a good heart? That's the argument you're gonna make? Wheat could come up with better." He turned to take another swing. "Hell, I could come up with better and I'm the one saying no."

"Alright. If you're all fired up about not letting him in, you tell me why not?"

Frustrated, he drove the ax back into the stump, pulling a cloth from the belt of his pants, he quickly ran it down his neck, catching the beading sweat before it ran down his bare chest. "I don't think he can count to ten."

"Neither can Jenkins."

"He can barely read."

"That would be Wheat."

"Every job we put him on this week, he screwed up."

"It took Hank over a month to clean a stall without losing half the bedding."

"He's never run with a gang." His frustration was building.

"Neither had I, that didn't seem to bother you when I joined."

"You're different." He took a deep breath in frustration. "He can't hit the broad side of the barn. If he pulls out his gun, we'll be in more danger than the passengers. He'll end up shooting someone, and then we'll be in more trouble than we already are."

"I can teach him how to shoot."

He laughed. "You'll have better luck teaching a horse."

Kid crossed his arms, a challenge. "You think so?" Heyes nodded, affirmatively. "Alright, give me a week. If I can get him to hit five cans out of seven, he stays."

Heyes' eyes narrowed, calculating the odds. If Kid were honest, which he wasn't, he would admit that he liked seeing Heyes flustered. After so many years by his side, it was a rare occasion that he had the upper hand on his partner.

Once his calculations were complete, he nodded. "Fine, five out of seven, and when he fails, you get to be the one to tell him he's out."

Without another word, he brushed past him, leaving the rest of the wood for Kid to complete.

* * *

"Kyle, it has to come natural. Point the gun at what you want to hit, focus, and pull the trigger."

Behind the barn, they faced a roll of hay, a bed sheet draped across the front. Kid had considered putting something in the middle, something for him to aim at, but quickly realized he needed Kyle to at least hit the hay bale first; he'd narrow the target down later.

"Kid, I just don't think I can do it."

"Kyle, just concentrate."

"Concen… what?"

Kid took a deep breath, keeping the frustration at bay. "It means focus." He took another deep breath, he never considered himself well-read, and would always get frustrated when Heyes would use his highfalutin, big city words; yet after spending two days with Kyle, he started to wonder if Heyes had ulterior motives for using words that no one else understood, after all, why deal with the frustration of having to explain yourself all the time?

"Now, Kyle, take the gun and point it at your target." He did as he was told. "Now, focus on the bale of hay, right in the center."

"Ah, alright."

"Now, squeeze the trigger."

As the sound reverberated against the barn, the sheet did not move. Kid made a conscious decision not to sigh, not to close his eyes, not to groan. Instead, he smiled. "You're getting closer."

"Really?" Kyle asked, completely believing the lie that had been told to him.

"Yep, this time, before you pull the trigger, I want you to look down at the barrel of the gun, follow the barrel with your eyes all the way to the target, then fire."

He did as he was told, and not to anyone's surprise, he missed – again.

"Kid, I just can't do it."

"Kyle, Heyes wouldn't have me teach you if he didn't believe you could do it."

His face lit up, "Hannibal Heyes really thinks I can do it?"

"He sure does. Now, you just stay out here and keep practicin', remember – point, aim, shoot."

With a little more excitement, he nodded affirmatively, "Alright!"

With a glance up at the heavens, he made his way back to the center of the camp. As he was passing the bath house, Heyes was leaning against the wall. "Two days and he still hasn't hit that hay bale once."

"Week ain't over yet."

"Kid, I get it, he's young, eager to impress _the great_ Hannibal Heyes, you probably see a lot of yourself in him." He smiled that dang smile that always got on Kid's last nerve.

"Heyes, I'm gonna forget you said that, cause if there was anybody I ever did want to impress, it wasn't you."

Before he could say anything further, Kid finished his trek to cabin.

* * *

"I got closer, one time, I even hit the sheet." Kyle announced to both Wheat and Lobo.

"Boy, you're still a long way from five cans." Wheat laughed as he scooped up the mash and shoved it into his already filthy mouth. As he chewed, he continued, "Heyes said five cans or you're out." He swallowed, "I wouldn't unpack your bags, if I was you."

Looking dejected, Kyle stared down in his plate, just moving the food around, not eating.

"Wheat, you can't hit five cans." Kid stated, just to Kyle's right, from the corner of his eye he saw the poor boy smile, but just a little.

"Yes, I can!" Wheat bolstered, but with a dark glare from the Kid, he quickly refocused on his meal.

"Will you two stop?" Heyes commanded. Standing with his plate, he handed it to Crusher. "Kid, could I speak with you a moment?"

Kid looked down at his half-eaten plate. "I'm not done."

"When the leader of the gang tells a man to do something, he does it, right?"

Casting an angry glare, the Kid threw down his fork and napkin and followed Heyes out.

As soon as they were on the porch of the leader's cabin, Kid took a deep breath. "Heyes, you might be the leader of this gang, but we're partners, remember?"

Disregarding Kid's obvious annoyance at being called out, "Kid, you've only got two more days and Kyle ain't no closer than he was when you first started."

"Exactly, Heyes, I got two more days." He said through clenched teeth.

"I'm just sayin', Kid…"

"Yeah, and I'm just sayin' you stick to your job in this gang, I'll stick to mine."

As he turned to walk away, Heyes grabbed his arm. "Look, fine. Could you at least tell me why you're being so stubborn about getting him to stay? It's not like I've never said no before."

Relaxing, he went to the chair that sat just outside the door to the cabin. "Heyes, do you know why he's never run with another gang?" Heyes nodded no. "No one else would let him in, he has nothing. Hell, he's spent the past year stealing food out of the trash just to eat."

"Maybe he should just go back home."

"His family was killed in Lawrence, Kansas, his Ma, his Pa, and all of his brothers. He has no one to go home to. "

"And if he accidentally kills someone during a job?"

"Heyes, he won't. I'll keep working with him, he'll get better."

Without another word, Heyes turned and looked back over towards the gang's cabin, lost in thought.

* * *

The cans were lined up on a log, eight of them sitting close together. The boys had gathered round, each curious to the outcome. They had heard that Kyle had gotten better. The day before, he even managed to hit two of the cans that had been put up, too bad it took him ten tries to hit those two.

Kyle was outwardly nervous, pacing as everyone took their spots. Heyes walked up to Kyle. "Are you ready?"

He nervously laughed, "Yes sir."

"Alright, when I give the signal, your gonna point," he took out his own gun and pointed it towards the cans. "Aim," he adjusted it slightly, "and fire." Pulling the trigger, the can on the end of the log flew backwards into the brush.

"Yes sir."

"Alright." Heyes stepped back, his gun back in its holster, and raised his right hand. "Fire!"

Kyle pulled the trigger; the first can disappeared in the same direction as Heyes' had.

"Fire!"

Another can gone.

"Fire!"

The third stayed, unmoved.

"Fire!"

Just as the first, it flew backwards.

"Fire!"

The fifth shot equally found its mark.

"Fire!"

The can stayed on the log.

"Fire!"

The last and final shot sent the can flying.

Kyle stood there, stunned at the sight before him, five out of the seven he had hit – he did it. The gang behind him erupted in cheers. Clasping him on the back, Wheat pulled up his chest, "I knew you could do it."

"Alright, boys, how about you go on back to the cabin. I think there's still a bottle of whisky from last week, now might just be the time to drink it." Kid smiled as he watched them head back towards camp. As Heyes walked up behind him, he spoke softly.

"Heyes, I think I'll take back what I said before."

"What's that?"

"Maybe Kyle isn't the one with the kind heart."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"Next time, you might want to tell Preacher to pull the string a little quicker. He was almost too late on the last one."

With a glance back towards the brush, where Preacher was walking to retrieve the evidence, he smiled, "Kid, there won't be a next time."


End file.
